


Angels and Demons

by hufflepuffvs



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Badass Reader, Bearded Steve Rogers, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Mutual Pining, Protective Steve Rogers, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffvs/pseuds/hufflepuffvs
Summary: You were just an ordinary woman, stuck in a dead-end job you loved, contemplating a future in a career you've always dreamed of, until Steve Rogers entered your life.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

You had two choices.

Either you could continue working at your dead-end job or you could apply for your dream job.

You were a station chef at New York’s third popular restaurant a couple of months ago, having got the job by working your way up the chain. That was until the restaurant closed down due to the owner making dodgy deals and cutting corners to ensure the kitchen was up and running.

A couple of weeks after, you decided to apply at the nearest store that posted ‘Help Wanted’ posters downtown. While you were working there, you could scout for restaurants hiring staff. Sure, it would mean you may probably start from the bottom again but it would be worth it in the end. You ended up working at a quaint, rustic record store, full of vinyls, comic books and memorabilia. You were surprised at how popular it was, considering the amount of shops in the area.

The owner, Happy Hogan, is a man who’s very broody and gets easily irritated, but he’s also very kind and understanding. He even helped you look for ads during your lunch breaks. Happy pays you well, enough for a month’s rent and groceries. Eventually, you got so comfortable working there, you stopped looking for a job as a chef. Until now, when your roommate saw an ad for a sous chef.

It was a big step for you and you’re weren’t entirely sure you could handle it, but your friends had faith in your talents as a chef, saying you could easily take on the role. But you still weren’t convinced.

You could continue working for a nice job that pays well or you could work for your dream job that, surprisingly, isn’t that stable as you thought it was.

The debate kept you up all night and invaded your thoughts even now, as you walked to work. The thought had you mumbling, earning a few looks from people that passed you but you hadn’t noticed.

Still wrapped up in your thoughts, you crossed the street with your eyes downcast, completely unaware of the motorcycle currently speeding towards you. You gasped as you were pulled to the side by a strong hand on your arm, the loud sound of an engine revving skating past your ears.

You breathed heavily, your eyes darting from the road to the pavement as your mind struggled to grasp what just happened. You could’ve been run over by that motorcycle. It was just luck that someone had been nearby to move you out of harm’s way.

“You alright?” a deep, baritone voice asked.

You sucked in a deep breath, your mind catching up with you. You just about registered that your saviour was talking to you, and that your hands were firmly clasped around his thick, firm biceps. Well, _that_ certainly got your attention.

Looking up, you quietly gasped as your eyes locked onto a pair of piercing blue-green eyes staring back at you. Your eyes travelled up and down his body as he towered over you, his large hand holding your arm and the other on your waist in a gentle grip.

Standing closely to you, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He was incredibly attractive- his broad shoulders, his lean waist, his sharp cheekbones and his full lips grasping your attention. You stood there, you mouth slightly open as you stared up at him, your shock slowly fading away with every minute you stood there.

“Ma’am?” he asked, slightly ducking his head to look directly in your eyes.

You shook your head, realising you were blatantly ogling him. Stepping back, you looked around while he stepped back, his hands falling to his side. He was dressed in a tight t-shirt that accentuated his muscles and joggers. He must have been on a run, you assumed.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Thank you for… you know. I owe you a massive one,” you cleared your throat, letting out a small sigh. You peeked up at him nervously.

He looked at you with a small smile, before scanning the road briefly. “Don’t worry about it. Just, uh, be careful out there. You never know what could happen.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, again.” You chuckled and smiled at him. He nodded at you and watched as you straightened your purse on your shoulder and slowly walked away, your eyes on the street in front of you this time.

You slowed to a stop and turned around. He was still there, his hands on his hips as he watched you. You felt bad for leaving him there, but he was a complete stranger. A handsome and kind stranger that you won’t see again. A few seconds later, you turned back and went about your journey.

The record store was just around the corner, situated at a street nearby. The narrow road was paved with smooth cobblestones, the faded grey a stark contrast with the brown, rustic brownstones that were lined up on the streets. Small shops and cafes were open alongside the store, tucked into a small valley amidst downtown Brooklyn. The sound of the heavy traffic could be heard from afar, yet it didn’t take away the homely nature of the tiny district. You’d never felt more at peace as you strolled down the streets, a smile on your face as the crisp wind blew strands of your hair back.

* * *

The morning was quiet as usual. You just came back from your lunch break with Happy, talking about anything and everything. You didn’t mention your near-death experience; you knew Happy would start asking a bunch of questions. He meant well though- he looked out for you once in a while.

You were currently sitting behind the counter, hunched over a crossword puzzle as customers sifted through the collection of records that sat in tables across the store. You heard the usual ring of the bell as the door opened, not bothering to look up. One of the first things you learned at the job was to let people search for what they want and wait until they’re at the counter to interact with them.

This time, all of your concentration was on the crossword, your brows furrowing as you racked your mind on what the hell the Best Picture for 1950 was.

“All about Eve”

“Huh?” you looked up then, your breath catching in your throat and your eyes wide at the customer in front of you.

There he stood, your saviour from this morning, holding a record under his arm with his hands in his pockets. He changed from his running gear into a smart, black tux that fit perfectly. He dug out one hand to point at the crossword on the counter.

“23 across. 1950 Best Picture. All about Eve.”

You looked down at the flimsy newspaper before looking back at him. You probably looked ridiculous, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, gawking up at him like you did a few hours ago.

“Thanks. Again,” you inwardly cursed at how shaky your voice sounded. You never thought you’d see him again, let alone serve him in the record store you worked at.

He smiled, peeking under his long eyelashes to gaze at you as he placed the record next to the crossword puzzle, which you immediately shoved onto the seat as you stood up to serve him.

You eyed the record as you scanned the barcode on the back.

“It’s Been a Long, Long Time. Interesting choice”

“What can I say, I’m an old soul,” he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

You smiled brightly at how nervous he seemed. You carefully handed the record back to him, shooting out your hand to rest on his wrist when he pulled out his wallet.

“On the house.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do after you saved me from getting run over by a motorcycle”.

You shrugged your shoulders and the man beamed, letting out a small scoff of disbelief. You smiled back, entranced by his blue eyes and gorgeous features.

“Well, thank you…” he trailed off, his head cocked to the side.

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N.” he repeated. “Beautiful name. I’m Steve Rogers,” he held out a hand in front of you. You placed your hand in his, in what you assumed was a handshake but he took your hand and placed a kiss at the back. You blushed furiously, your cheeks turning into a light shade of pink as you smiled.

He smirked at you as he let go, taking the record and stepping back. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

With that, he winked at you and set off, sending a smile your way as he exited the store. You watched him go through the store window, your cheeks still blushing. Running a hand in your hair, you sighed and squared your shoulders, standing up straight and smiling at the next person that came up to the counter.

The man, dressed in a blazer adorned with medals and service bars on a breast bar on the right side. He looked through the window at the retreating man for a few seconds and tutted. He turned back to you; his eyes full of concern.

“I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

“I’m sorry?” you looked at the officer, scanning his nameplate. Captain T'Challa Udaku, it seemed his name was, crossed his arms and gave you a pointed look.

“Trust me, you need to stay away from him. He’s a dangerous man”

You narrowed your eyes, watching as he donned his hat and left. You were so confused at how, the charming handsome man, that was Steve Rogers, the man who quite literally pulled you out of harm’s way, was dangerous.

* * *

As soon as the clock hit 8, you rushed to turn the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed, shutting the blinds and the lights off, locking the cash register and hauling it down onto the shelf of the counter.

You’ve been on edge since the Captain of the NYPD stopped by, giving you that ominous warning. You knew that so-called dangerous man didn’t come back, nor did you see him stroll down the street past the store. You couldn’t believe it. He seemed so charming and down to earth. You were drawn to those brilliant blue eyes of his, his red full lips tilted into a smirk burnt in your brain. He stopped you from getting run over, for damn sake, there was no way he’s dangerous!

Maybe, it’s all of those qualities he hides under that makes him dangerous. The innocent flower hiding the serpent underneath.

You took a deep breath, making your way around the store to double check everything was in place. You stopped in your tracks when you heard the bell ring, accompanied by an echoing thud. Turning around, you saw the door was ajar but no one was there.

Holding your breath, you slowly stepped up to the door, your eyes following a trail of dark liquid that definitely wasn’t there a few seconds ago. As you got closer, you could see something long and thick sticking out from the table in front of the store window, the darkness of the night sky casting an obscure shadow over the figure.

You gulped and inched closer, against your better judgement. This could’ve been a trap, someone would come out of the shadows and jump you, just like they did in the movies. You ignored your instinct for survival and with shaky legs, you crouched down, realising that the long, thick log wasn’t in fact a log. It was an arm.

You’ve never been this scared in your life. You bit back the heavy breaths, your jaw clenching as you dragged the arm into the store, the door closing as you put all your effort in pulling the heavy body.

Once you managed to get the body away from sight, you straightened up, working your back and shoulders to get all the cricks out. This body was definitely heavy to handle.

You switched on the lamp on the counter, the light flickering on to show exactly who was in the shop.

You let out a small yelp, shuffling back until you hit a wall, shrinking back against it as if it would swallow you whole and hide you. This time, the need to gulp down air hit you, as you panted in shock.

There, lying motionless on the ground, face pale and endless amounts of blood on the carpet, seeping into his white shirt, was Steve.

You didn't know how long you stood there. Seconds, minutes, hours- time was at a standstill point at this moment. 

The shock turned into panic the longer you stood there, staring at Steve's unconscious body. You could just about see the small, tell-tale sign of Steve's chest, moving up and down, meaning he was still breathing. It was hard to think straight with your mind was running wild, millions of thoughts flowing together one after the other. 

Your eyes immediately flew from Steve to the door when you heard a loud ringing sound. Steve must've dropped his phone when he passed out. 

Taking a deep breath, you somehow got your legs to work and walked to the door, careful not to trip over any of Steve's body parts. The ringing tone was louder now and you could see the bright screen on the floor. You didn't know who it was as you scanned the number, not even a name was written. 

Your heart beating of your chest distracted you, threatening to overwhelm you again, but you had to do something. Even if Steve was as dangerous as he's made out to be, you couldn't let him die. You swiped the phone and pressed it to your ear, your hands never ceasing to shake. 

"Hey punk," the Brooklyn drawl wasn't hard to miss. "Where are you? I've been waiting for a half hour now."

You didn't respond, your breathing gone back to normal as you listened to the man ramble on about being punctual. You didn't register that he had finished and was waiting for a reply until he gave a response. 

"Hello? Steve, everything ok?" 

The concern in his voice brought you back to reality. Turning back to face Steve, you shook your head before realising he couldn't see you. "No, it isn't. Steve's been injured. I need your help." 

* * *

The man on the phone immediately asked for your location and you gave it, hearing the roar of an engine coming to life and the squealing of tires as the man told you to stay put. He'll be coming to you. 

You paced in the dark, the dim light of the lamp just about gave you sight. You glanced out the window and at the clock everytime you neared it, waiting for the man, you assumed was Steve's friend, to arrive.

You kept on thinking of when he came into the store. How close was he to the store? Was she in danger of being attacked by the same person who attacked Steve? After this, you would most definitely stay away from him. You've known him for a grand total of 5 minutes and already, he came to you bleeding out. 

Too wrapped up in your thoughts, you almost missed the black car parking outside, a man rushing out and entering your store, holding a large first aid kit and immediately dropping down to where Steve lay. You rushed over to him, answering his non stop questions and following his instructions as you helped him patch up Steve's bloody wound.

Looking up, you surveyed the man's features. He had blue eyes like Steve, but his were a shade lighter, almost grey. He was tall, physically fit and leaner than Steve, but his muscles still popped out all the same. His long, brown hair was slicked back, reaching his collar, and flicks of stubble decorated his cheeks,small brown hairs growing out a beard. 

You watched him as he swiftly and efficiently cleaned up his wound, hooking a thread through the needle at a steady pace, almost as if he's done this a million times before. 

"Don't you think it'd be better to take him to a hospital?" 

"Steve hates hospitals. Besides, we can't. The minute he's admitted, the cops will come after him when he's most vulnerable." He replied, not once looking up as he continued stitching him up. 

"The cops? Why would they do that?" you asked incredulously, your eyes wide as you stared at him. 

He stopped in his tracks, his head slowly rising so he was directly looking at your eyes. 

"Oh honey. Don't you know? We're in the mob." 


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh, honey don't you know? We're in the mob._

Your jaw went slack, your eyes went wide as you ungracefully fell back on your rear, your legs instinctively tucked into your side as the man carried on stitching Steve's wound. He was either oblivious to your reaction or he simply ignored you. Either way, it took quite a lot of urging to coax you back to reality and before you knew it, the three of you had moved into the backroom to lay low, to wait for Steve to wake up. 

Steve was still knocked out, lying on the couch whilst you and the other guy perched onto the desk in the corner, a small lamp illuminating the dark room. You were concerned that Steve's wound was more serious than let on, but the man assured you it wasn't. Luckily, whoever shot him didn't do much damage; it was a superficial bullet wound, through and through, that didn't hit any major organs. 

The two of you spent a better part of an hour waiting for Steve to wake up. Apparently, the man, who introduced himself as Bucky, couldn't call for reinforcements unless it was a life or death emergency. You raised your eyebrows at that part, as you were pretty sure this counted as one. 

It was at that point Bucky decided to explain to you the ins and out of the mob. The first thing you learned was that the Godfather movies were completely unrealistic in terms of how the mob worked. Mobsters didn't have a sense of honour or a set of morals. They were all ruthless, venal thugs who only cared about bringing in the money. They did everything in secret, from the various crimes they committed to the handling of the business. There was definitely the rule of respect within the different families; they needed to earn it. 

You also learned that Steve wasn't just any mobster. Steve Rogers was the King of Brooklyn. He was the head of one of four families in New York, having inherited the position from his father when he died. The others were scattered across New York: SHIELD, HYDRA and the Asgardians. Steve was in charge of the Howling Commandos, with Bucky as his right-hand man. 

Bucky tried his best to simplify it all for you, making sure you were comfortable besides him and calm. Oddly, you were. His deep Brooklyn drawl being the anchor to ground you to reality. 

Most mobsters were actually good men in a very dangerous business. But HYDRA was the worst of them all. That family consisted of the most evil, dysfunctional men New York has ever seen. The three other families worked together and tried to stay out of their way, choosing to barter a deal with them: "stay out of our way and we'll stay out of yours."

By the time Steve woke up, you couldn't stop trembling, preferring to stand back in the shadows, as Bucky helped a groggy Steve sit up. His eyes landed on yours, picking up on your figure despite all you did at hiding from him. He immediately sensed your discomfort and offered to give you a ride home. You stayed quiet throughout, your body tense as you sat in the passenger seat. Bucky drove with Steve laying in the back. You weren't comfortable with mobsters knowing where you lived, but you could sense that they were one of the good ones. If that made any sense to you. Spoiler: it didn't. 

You squeaked out a thank you as you reached your home. Before you exited the car, Steve handed you a 90's-esque pager, telling you to use it whenever you needed his help. In his words, he "owed you one". You nodded and rushed inside, panting as you leaned back against the door. 

You were so screwed now.

* * *

You didn't sleep all night. 

That was fairly obvious, with the dark circles under your eyes, your tired eyes drooping every ten seconds and a yawn escaping your lips a hundred times an hour. 

You were on your third mug of coffee when a uniformed police officer strolled into the shop, scanning every corner until his eyes landed on you. You straightened your back, suddenly alert and your mind running frantic. He was here to arrest you. He knew you helped two mobsters escape into the night. 

You gulped and took a sip of the bitter drink to wet your dry mouth, your hands sweeping down your jeans as you plastered a smile on your face as the officer approached the counter. 

"Hello, how can I help you?" you almost winced at how your voice cracked at the end. Clearing your throat, you reminded yourself to breathe in and out as the officer nodded in recognition. 

"Ma'am, I'm part of an ongoing investigation around the area and I was hoping you could help me out. Have you seen this man around anywhere in the past week?" He pulled out a picture from his pocket and placed it on the counter. You kept a straight face as you stared at the picture of Steve, his blue eyes staring a hole in yours. 

"He came into the store yesterday and bought a record. I haven't seen him since." 

You were impressed at how you managed to say that as normally as you could. You wouldn't dare tell him what happened here last night. The last thing you wanted was to give the store a bad name, get Happy in trouble let alone making yourself known as an involvement with the King of Brooklyn and his Howling Commandos. 

The officer nodded, satisfied with your response as he tucked the picture back in his pocket. You didn't know what it was, but the way he kept looking around the store, a small smirk loosely playing on his lips; he was giving off a bad vibe. You couldn't trust him, you just didn't know why. 

"Alright, well thanks for all your help. If you ever see him again, head down to the station and ask for Jasper Sitwell." 

"Will do." You smiled as sweetly as you could as the officer adjusted his glasses and left, your eyes following his every move as he walked down the street. Letting out a deep breath, you sweeped your face with your hands, screwing your eyes shut. 

Goosebumps formed on your skin, the hairs on your arms rising at the sudden coldness you felt and your stomach churning in guilt for lying to the police. Right now, you just wanted to crawl into your warm bed, bury yourself under the bedspreads and never wake up. 

After a few minutes of breathing in and out, you opened your eyes, blinking the blurry vision away and your eyes landed at the window. You were staring at the cafe across the street when you realised that a man in a fine suit had been sitting at the table outside for nearly an hour now, his hands barely nursing a mug, and his eyes fixed onto your figure. When he noticed you had caught him, he widened his eyes and smoothly turned his head so he was looking at the exterior of the building instead. 

You would've thought he was a bored regular guy but something in the back of your mind was telling you that it wasn't the case. Huffing, you poured fresh coffee from the pot into a large mug and carried it all the way across to the table, where the man was sitting, trying and failing to hide his surprise. 

"Here," you handed the mug to him, watching as confusion painted his face. "Coffee, for your troubles."

"Uh... thanks," he tentatively took it from you, taking a casual sip and making a pleased face before he carried on drinking. 

"So, what's your name?"

"Scott. This coffee tastes great, by the way. Did you make this?"

"Scott, I'm gonna need you to focus here. Who sent you?"

* * *

It took a lot of persuading on your part, including a promise of a cup of Happy's finest coffee every morning. Scott's friendly nature surprised you, considering he was a mobster. The more time you spent with Scott, the more you understood Bucky's words. 

He directed you to a bar located in central Brooklyn. You remembered walking past it once or twice; it gave out a sophisticated and quiet vibe yet you could see lots of people hanging around whenever you'd glance through the window. It never occured to you that it was a hangout for the local mobsters in town. You should've been afraid of who you'll find inside but right now, you were too angry to care. 

Storming in, with the pager clutched in one hand, you marched to the back office, ignoring the protests of the barman and the stares of the few people sitting in the booths. Right now, you only had one person on your mind. 

Lo and behold, there he was, sitting behind a desk, on a sleek black chair you could tell was reserved for him only. Steve looked up when you slammed the door behind you.

"Care to tell me why your minion is watching me?" 

Steve stared at you with a blank face, completely thrown off guard by your sudden arrival. How you managed to find him, something that not even a low level mobster could do, baffled him. He blinked rapidly, realising you were still waiting for his answer. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted so he was sitting straighter in his seat. "Don't worry about him. He's there for protection."

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief. "Protection?! From what? I'm capable of looking after myself. I'm not some Mary Sue waiting to be rescued,"

An amused smile grew on Steve's face, his serious demeanor fading away as you started to rant. He was impressed by your bravery; if anyone started to shout at him like that, they wouldn't even make it out the door without a broken leg. 

"...I don't want to get wrapped into some Goodfellas bullshit, okay! I didn't ask for any of this, I mean I just met you yesterday!" You come to a stop, releasing little pants of breath as you glare at Steve. The sight of his smirk has you seeing red. 

He lets out a chuckle, his hand briefly covering his mouth as he stands up, slowly strutting around the desk with his hands in his pockets. You lightly gulp as he stops in front of you. You have to tilt your head to look him in the eye as you strain not to check him out. He exuded confidence with his precise movements and his chest subtly pushed out as he gazed at you with a smirk on his face. 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just... you get so adorable when you're mad." 

You could feel your anger growing; you had to grit your teeth to bite back a response. You weren't an idiot. You knew that Steve was still the most feared mobster in Brooklyn and not just some customer you met the previous day. 

Unclenching your fist, you silently grabbed his wrist in a heated exchange, slapping the pager he'd given to you in his open palm. He looked at the pager and then back to you with furrowed brows as you stepped back with a tight-lipped smile. "Stay away from me." Your voice was dangerously low yet the contempt was loud and clear. You gave Steve one last glare before you turned, stepping out of his office without a word, not pausing to look back. If you had, you would've seen Steve standing there, unable to move whilst he watched you leave. 

* * *

By the end of the day, you had calmed down enough to get back to work. Conveniently, the next time you looked out across the street, Scott had already left with no trace of him ever being there in the first place- including your favourite mug. You thought he had took it with him but you didn't mind. Your anger had subsided eventually, leaving you with horror and awe at how you confronted the King of Brooklyn and lived to tell the tale. At least, now you had real guts. 

Hours has passed since your visit this morning, the sky now a dark indigo with stars flickering and the moon casting its glow. The streetlamps illuminated the empty streets with a deep orange, giving you a small comfort in the fog. The lights inside the store were still on; after last night's mishap, you now packed up before switching the lights off. You didn't even know why you didn't do that in the first place. 

In the midst of locking everything away, the bell unexpectedly jingled as the door opened. You groaned at the back of your throat, not wanting to deal with anyone right before closing time. You looked up and immediately tensed as Steve strolled in, hands in his cashmere coat pockets as he looked around before his eyes landed on you. 

You placed a hand on your hip and the other hand grasped the desk at your left. "We're closing" 

Steve simply shrugged, unaffected by your curt response. "I just came by to give the pager back to you." 

You let out a scoff. "I don't want your stupid pager."

"I know. I needed an excuse to see you"

A smile spreads on your face as you playfully roll your eyes at him. "Smooth". You both let out a laugh as you relaxed your shoulders. "I'm still mad at you y'know".

"I know. And as an apology, I'd like to take you out to New York's finest Italian restaurant anyone's ever seen"

You must've looked like a deer caught in headlights; your body froze, your eyes widened and staring at him in shock with your eyebrows raised. Was he really asking you out on a _date?_ You inhaled sharply, shifting from one foot to the other. You didn't have a response for him. All you could think about was what Bucky had told you that night. You knew Steve was a bad guy, but you couldn't deny you were attracted to him. His cerulean eyes, his deep voice, his built body, his confident gait- boy, was he enticing. 

Sensing your hesitation, Steve stepped back, putting further space between you. "Hey, if you say no, I promise I'll walk away and leave you alone. But there's a lot to me you haven't seen that I'd like to show you."

You heaved a sigh, your eyes roaming up and down his body as you bit your lip. Steve raised his eyebrows, awaiting your response with a grin on his lips. 

"Fine. But this doesn't count as a date"

Steve's grin grew bigger, nodding his head in agreement. "Friday. 8 o'clock. I'll pick you up outside the store." 

With that, he shot you a wink and left, leaving you standing there slack-jawed in awe and a tilted head. You quietly laughed to yourself, suddenly feeling giddy. You couldn't wait until Friday night. 


	3. Chapter 3

You spent the following days preparing- what outfit to wear, how to style your hair, what to do if the weather turns bad; the list goes on. Steve didn’t give any details at all, simply a time, date and where to wait for him. That meant, in your mind, you had to make sure everything would run accordingly. You had to admit that you'd never been this excited for a date before. The logical part of your brain chastised yourself for feeling this way already but you couldn't help the thrill-seeking chill running down your spine. 

You were so excited that you woke up that Friday morning bright and early, freshly showered and eating your breakfast all within an hour- which was a far cry from your usual morning routine. You were definitely not a morning person; every day, you would wake up with a tired scowl on your face, desperately wanting to go back to sleep than leave the warm comfort of your bed. 

"Who's the guy?"

You looked up from your cereal; your roommate's sparkling green eyes were curiously studying you, hiding her small smirk behind her coffee mug. Wanda could read everyone like an open book, especially you due to your inability to keep a straight face when it came to hiding your emotions. 

Clearing your throat, you straightened in your seat and tried your best to be nonchalant. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Y/N," Wanda warmly chuckled, "You hate getting up in the mornings yet here you are, all dolled up bright and early, with a huge smile on your face. Either you finally accepted that dream job or you have a date coming up." 

"Well, you're right. I have a... sort-of date tonight" you hesitantly told her. 

"I knew it!" she squealed out, leaning forward with her hands folded underneath her chin. "So, is it anyone I know?"

Biting your lip, you slowly took a bite of your cereal as a means to think of your response. Wanda was one of your closest friends for years; she's practically your family. You were never close with your deadbeat father and you barely talk to your sister lives three states away. You couldn't lie to her. 

"If I tell you, will you promise not to freak out?"

Wanda quizzically frowned but nevertheless nodded. "Sure."

You let out a deep breath in relief, squaring your shoulders. "I'm having dinner with Steve Rogers"

"Oh. _Oh._ " Wanda relaxed before instantly straightening up, surprise clearly written on her face. Yet, she didn't seem fazed at all, which was confusing to say the least. 

"So... do you know him?"

Wanda arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm assuming you do too considering he asked you too."

"Please don't judge Wanda," you sighed out. 

"Hey, I'm not." Wanda placed a hand on yours, squeezing gently in comfort. "He's been looking out for me since Pietro died, so I know he's a good guy. But I have to warn you, please be careful. He may be genuine but there are other parts of him you haven't seen yet." 

* * *

It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening when you were ready. You checked your reflection in your full-length mirror; you wore a pale blue floral skater dress paired with a leather jacket and ankle boots, your makeup minimal and your hair braided. Wanda helped you braid your hair in a french plait before heading off to work, wishing you good luck with a sly wink before leaving. You chuckled at her antics; you were adamant this was not an actual date, simply dinner- nothing would happen. 

Once you were satisfied, you grabbed your purse, checking everything was in it as you made your way to the door. As you opened it, you stopped short at the person currently standing in front of you. 

"You lied to me." Sitwell barked, shoving your shoulder whilst walking inside, earning a scoff from you as you closed the door. This was definitely not what you needed right now. 

"I didn't say you could come in, Officer," you chided angrily, turning to him with your arms crossed. 

Sitwell clenched his jaw, standing at the sofa holding a manila folder in his hands. "You might want to watch that temper, Y/N. It could get you in trouble one day." 

"How did you find my address, anyway?" you asked through gritted teeth, seething. 

"I'm a cop, sweetheart," Sitwell drawled. "And unless you want to be arrested for obstruction of justice, I'd suggest you listen to me."

He opened the folder and unceremoniously threw various files atop the coffee table in front of him. You gasped as you took a look; they were pictures- pictures of bloody crime scenes, corpses and charred buildings burnt to a crisp- there was even a picture of dead _children_ laid out before yellow tape. They were absolutely disturbing yet you couldn't look away, choosing to close your eyes in aversion. 

"Horrible, huh?" Sitwell continued. "This is exactly the kind of crimes Steve Rogers and his Howling Commandos commit every day."

Your eyes flew open at his words, shaking your head slightly. You refused to believe Steve had any part in this; he didn't seem so brutal. Then again, you didn't really know him. "How are you so sure this was Steve? I thought there were at least four other mobs in Brooklyn, or am I wrong?" you countered, studying Sitwell with caution.

As he stood before you, even back in the store a few days ago, your instincts warned you not to trust him. Sitwell seemed dangerously calm; his eyes were watching your like a hawk, a smirk hinted at the corner of his lips. You felt uneasy around him, especially now as he ogled at you. 

"I just showed you concrete evidence of his crimes and your first thought is to defend him?" Sitwell asked, his voice dripping with judgement and disbelief. "You really are that far gone." 

Narrowing your eyes, you inwardly counted to ten, your hands balled in fists under your arms. "Why did you even show me these, then?" 

"'Cause you're going to help me take Steve Rogers down."

* * *

The sun was just about to set, painting the sky in warm tones of purple and orange, casting a golden orange tone across the city. The spring heat considerably cooled as the hours went by, turning into warm breezes across Brooklyn. It was perfect weather for a date, yet you couldn't stop shivering. 

You felt a sense of deja vu; once again, you were venturing down the familiar path to Happy's store, lost in your thoughts. You were more alert of your surroundings, wrapping your arms around yourself as you walked, the recent events consuming your brain. 

You sent Sitwell on his way soon after, hurriedly collecting his pictures and shoving them in his hands as you promised you'll call him as soon as you had more time to consider his proposal. He gave you his card with a warning not to wait for too long before he left. At this point, you were a bundle of nerves; Sitwell had undoubtedly messed with your head, the images embedded into your brain and your racing thoughts muddled at what and who you were supposed to believe. 

It was nearing eight o'clock when you arrived, settling a few steps away from the store and facing the streets in front of you. Although your anxiety had risen considerably, you knew you couldn't cancel your impending dinner with Steve; there was no way to contact him and you really didn't want to make him think something was wrong if you didn't turn up. 

After a few minutes, you had relaxed your stance, patiently waiting for Steve to arrive, until you heard a familiar roaring of an engine nearing. Glancing slightly to your left, you saw a man clad in leather roughly park his motorcycle before taking off his helmet and looking your way. You quickly averted your gaze to the street across from you, not wanting to draw any attention. From the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but peak at his vehicle. It was definitely a motorbike you'd seen somewhere before until it hit you- he was the same man who you nearly crashed into over a week ago. 

"What's a pretty gal like you doing here all by yourself?" a gruff voice called out. 

You turned your head to see him leer at you, his eyes running up and down your form as he dismounted the bike. "I'm just waiting for someone" you replied whilst subtly inching away from him in hopes he'd leave you alone. 

"Dressed up like that?" he went on, slowly strutting towards you. "Why don't you come along for a motorcycle ride with me instead?"

You took a deep breath, hiding your shaking hands in your pockets as you backed away from him. "No thank you" you stammered, praying the man didn't sense your fear. 

"Come on baby," he urged on, stopping at a distance; you wished the gap between the two of you was bigger. 

"She said no, Rumlow" a steady, rich voice butted in; you closed your eyes and exhaled in relief as Steve approached from behind, a glare fixed on the predatory biker as he stopped beside you. 

Rumlow slowly backed away, his hands coming out before him in surrender as he looked from you to Steve. "Rogers," he acknowledged. I was just headed over to Insight"

"Well, your bar is that way" Steve nodded past him, his steel gaze directed at Rumlow, who smirked and muttered a "Whatever" before strolling down the street and out of site. 

As soon as Steve was sure Rumlow was gone, he turned to you and ran his hands up and down your arms in comfort, his concerned azure eyes searching yours as you took deep breaths to calm yourself. "You alright, doll? I'm sorry I kept you waiting"

"It's ok," you shook your head and gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "You're here now" you assured him, your hand reaching up to grasp one of his tenderly. 

"Are you sure? If you're not up to this, I can take you home right now" he offered. Your smile genuinely grew bigger at how caring he was with you, your distress instantly disappearing as he gently wrapped his arms around your waist, his warmth easing your trembling. 

"I'm fine, Steve. Honestly" you confided. "Besides, you did offer me a dinner at the finest restaurant of New York"

* * *

You could honestly say that, without a doubt, this was one of the best dates you'd ever been on. Your agitation drifted away, the previous events soon being forgotten as Steve doused you in comfort and calmness throughout the dinner. Steve surprised you; he was open about his life, he was humble to a tee and he intently listened to you as you talked. He also indulged you in meaningful conversations and never ceased to make you laugh.

You didn't want this night to end. 

Steve accompanied you home, walking besides you in a leisurely pace, your hands linked together with your other resting on his forearm. Comfortable silence fell between you two as you neared the end of your journey, slowly coming to a stop once you've reached your destination. You turned to him, tucking your hands in your jacket pockets, trying to ignore the tingle you felt when you dropped your hands from his. 

"Thanks for tonight," you told him. "This was a pretty fun date"

"Thought you said this wasn't a date" Steve smiled, a soft sigh escaping him as he playfully cocked an eyebrow. 

Slowly realising you slipped up, you giggled, ducking your head bashfully to hide your growing smile. This instantly faded away the minute you looked up and caught Steve frowning at something down the street. You softly called his name in question, turning your head to face who he was looking at. 

"Hey! Hey kid!" he called out. 

A boy, no more than twelve years old, suddenly looked up and gulped, stopping in his tracks as if he was caught stealing cookies from his mother's cookie jar. 

Steve softened his gaze, taking a cautious few steps towards the kid, curiously eyeing the bulky lump he was holding underneath his jacket. "What's your name?"

"H-Harley Keener" he stuttered out, squaring his shoulders to appear more tough. 

"What are you doing out here? The streets aren't safe at night" Steve nodded to him, his stance tall but non-threatening. 

"I was just buying potatoes" Harley answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Why the hell do you need potatoes at this time of- you know what, it doesn't matter" Steve cut himself off, reaching into his pocket to take out a couple of dollar bills, handing some to the kid. "There's a taxi base just left from here. I know the manager, she's sweet. Go over there and she'll get you a safe cab to take you home" 

With wide eyes, Harley gingerly took the money from Steve's hand, thanking him with a small smile on his face. "Thanks. I promise I'll use the cash for its purpose," he joked, gratitude clearly detected. 

"Yeah, just get home safe" Steve grumbled, chuckling under his breath as he turned to watch Harley run as best as he could whilst clutching a bag of potatoes. Turning back to you, he shrugged at your raised eyebrows and knowing smile. 

"That was sweet" you said, reaching out to hold his hand. 

"Yeah, well" Steve mumbled, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. "There's one rule I always stick by in my line of business" he stated, all playfulness in his tone immediately gone. "Kids are off-limits" 

You stared up at Steve in awe. A stray thought popped up but you moved it to the back of your mind as you stepped closer to Steve, not an inch between you. You only needed to tilt your head up and you'd be kissing him. "You are so kind and caring, you know that Rogers?"

"Don't tell anybody. People will think I'm soft" he teased, snaking his arms around your waist and laughed quietly with you as you giggled. 

Your soft laughter died down after a few seconds, once again averting your eyes to the ground as a small smile fell upon your lips. You were adamant you would not fall for him yet you were trying so hard to deny yourself the pleasure of fully giving in to the roller coaster of emotions you felt during tonight but you couldn't help it. Around him, you grew shy and goosebumps would form on your skin no matter how many layers you were wearing. You really needed to get out while you can, you thought to yourself. 

You were unaware that Steve was intensely watching you until you looked back up to him, your eyes flickering to his full lips and then back. His eyes roamed around your face as you licked your lips, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes when he slowly dipped his head and softly pressed his lips to yours. The gentle kiss lasted for a few seconds before you deepened the kiss, blindly reaching for Steve. 

Your hand caught the soft lapel of his coat, gripping it tightly in a fist whilst the other had rested on the space between his neck and shoulder. Steve responded with equal fervour, cupping your cheek and bending down to meet you halfway. Tongues brushing against each other, teeth occasionally clacking, letting out a quiet moan- it was the kind of kiss that made your head spin and heart race. Eventually, you had to come up for air so you softened your touch and ended the make-out session with a few chaste pecks before slowly stepping back, your noses gently bumping against each other. 

Both you and Steve opened your eyes at the same time, a huge smile on your lips as Steve let out a huff of laughter. You could care less that you were standing outside where anyone can see. In that moment, it felt like it was just the both of you, your faces illuminated by the glowing street lamp above, casting an ethereal glow that made your eyes shine brighter. 

"That was one hell of a way to say goodbye"


	4. Chapter 4

You learned that anyone can manipulate for their own gain, your father being a large example. Growing up, you witnessed first-hand how your father became more ruthless and hypocritical, adopting unconventional means to both defend the country and to gain power of his own. He tended to cut corners and continuing the development of projects despite the catastrophe it could cause. He spiralled further down this hole after your mother had died, disregarding his family despite the deep love he had felt for his daughters, which was debatable considering he had shut your sister out of her revolutionary work in science and taking it for himself.

You learned that anyone, even the people closest to you, can lie and betray in the click of a finger. That was why deep down you were vigilant of people when first meeting them, even to those who would eventually become your closest friends. You were naturally gentle and kindhearted, yet you always kept a guard up towards people you didn't know- trust had to be earned. 

Steve was no exception to this. Despite your friendly nature with him, you were still aware that he was one of the most prominent mob bosses in Brooklyn, therefore you had to think about every step you took when interacting with him. Though lately your behaviour and thoughts around him were completely contradictory. You marvelled at how easily Steve was able to get through to you even though you would probably never see him again after your one date. 

Sitwell, however, reeked of suspicion, which was highly unusual considering he was a police officer. No matter how many times you would meet, there would always be a stirring in your gut, as if there were alarm bells persistently going off in your brain. Perhaps, he reminded you of your father in his younger days, before he would turn into a hardened general. But then again, your father had imprinted a wariness on you that was hard to wash away, when it came to figures of authority. 

Even as you sat across from him now, you found yourself growing increasingly nervous the more you talked, your leg bouncing up and down and biting the side of your thumb. You kept Steve's pager hidden inside your fist, the knuckles white from grasping it so hard. You didn't know what would happen so you kept it with you as a precaution. 

You invited Sitwell over under the guise that you had information for him but you actually wanted to know whether he could be trusted or not. As soon as he arrived, you suggested that he was chasing the wrong guy, citing Steve's rule; Sitwell showed you a picture of a crime scene that showed gory corpses of children. If Steve was adamant that kids were off limits, you surmised that there was no way Steve was the one to commit these crimes. 

Sitwell, however, didn't agree with you. 

"I'm telling you, this is Steve's doing. I know it" he snapped at you. 

"How are you so sure?" you argued, exasperated. "How long have you been following him to know he did this? Surely, you must know that kids are off-limits to Steve."

"Are you really that naive to think there are rules in this type of business?" Sitwell suddenly stood up, his anger seeping out of his bones. "In the mob, there are no fucking rules! You're just expected to get the job done, no matter how bloody it gets or who gets in the way. You do all that and you're still stuck as the fucking fence three years later."

You stared up at him in surprise, shrinking back into the couch as Sitwell angrily ranted on. You looked down when you felt a sharp throb in your hand; you forgot you were gripping the pager like a lifeline. You sharply inhaled, the thin, black rectangle a welcoming cool to your warm palms. You pressed your thumb on the small button set on the top. Without thinking, you pressed the button over and over while Sitwell continued to shout at you, oblivious to your subtle actions. 

He was much too focused on releasing his pent-up anger.

You waited until he stopped, his chest heaving with sharp breaths. You stared up at him in shock, still pressing that goddamn button. 

"How would you know all that?" you asked quietly. 

Sitwell smirked, letting out a small scoff. "Like I told you from the beginning, princess, I've been following all of the mobsters for years and I'll take your precious Steve down" 

Pursing your lips, you nodded slowly; you got the answer you needed. "Well, if you've been following _all_ the mobsters, then why are you only fixated on taking Steve down?" you asked, raising your eyebrows smugly. 

Sitwell grew silent, unable to give a response and simply stared at you for a moment, his unblinking eyes unnerving you. Then, without warning, he raised his fist to strike you across the face, the force so strong it threw you back against the couch. Sitwell leaned in further, trapping you in front of him with no way out. 

"You think you're being really clever, but you're gonna tell me everything you know about Rogers," you groaned when he roughly grasped your chin in his hand, the ache in your cheek amplified. "And if you don't, well, there's other ways to get you to talk" he chuckled, his eyes shrewdly travelling down your body. 

* * *

The blazer and tie neatly set on the armchair reminded Steve of his meeting in the next twenty minutes. He was currently in his private office, sitting at the desk with his two top buttons of his dress shirt undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his ledger books open in front of him and a pile of papers to his right. Bucky was occupying the leather black armchair opposite the desk, nursing a glass of whiskey whilst Sam sat at the leather couch situated next to the fireplace on the far right. They were discussing business but it was obvious Steve wasn't paying attention. 

It was hard for him to focus on anything. His mind kept drifting back to you. 

The day he met you, you passed him while he was on his morning run. It was obvious your head was in the clouds because you kept muttering to yourself under your breath. It wasn't until he heard the telltale sign of Rumlow's motorbike when he looked up, panic filling his bones when you crossed the street, unaware that Rumlow was heading straight towards you without stopping. He acted on instinct and ran faster to pull you out of harm's way. 

The second time was purely coincidental. He walked into Happy's shop to look for a song to add to his record collection, one he had coveted for so long and luckily he found it. As he approached the counter, he recognised you from that morning and damn, if the sight he saw didn't make him swoon. You were hunched over a crossword puzzle, biting your lip and your nose scrunched in pure concentration. He knew you were beautiful the minute he saw you but seeing you then, you looked so adorable he wanted to kiss the breath out of you. And when he was shot on his way home, the first thing he remembered was that same facial expression, giving him the strength to take those extra few steps into Happy's store just before passing out. He had no idea if you were still there or if anyone would find him before it was too late.

Seeing you stand up for yourself was the final step he needed to ask you out. It wasn't his intention to get too close but he felt something inside him that he didn't feel since Peggy. Steve thought he was being ridiculous considering he only knew you for a day. He couldn't pass up the chance, but he knew he had to be careful; he didn't want you to become involved with his... _occupation_. So he decided to take you on the one date only. And what a great date it was. 

Steve quickly learned that he made a huge mistake because it meant it would be harder to stay away. 

"Steve?" he blinked, lifting his head when he heard his name, looking from Bucky to Sam as they stared at him expectedly. 

"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked, his voice raspy. 

"Rollins headed up north so should we find out why?" Bucky asked again, eyeing Steve knowingly. 

"No point. One less scumbag to deal with" Steve said, clearing away his desk and checking his watch afterwards. "Anyways, I heard SHIELD is keeping an eye on him, so Fury will give--"

Steve stopped short when a beeping sound interrupted him, leaving the three men wincing as the sound incessantly continued to reverberate throughout the room, like an alarm clock continuously ringing. 

"The hell is that?" Bucky asked, annoyed at the noise. 

"Uh Steve," Sam gestured to the desk. "I'm pretty sure it's coming from there"

Raising a brow, Steve opened the first drawer on the desk, rummaging through its contents until he found what he was looking for. He froze when he caught sight of the thin black rectangle rattling, the screen rapidly flashing on and off. Steve's furrowed brows hardened as rage overtook him, his knuckles turning white from clenching his hands into fists and the vein in his neck visibly popping out. 

While Steve gave you a pager, he kept the connected receiver. You'd only need to press once and his pager would receive an automatic message, so the fact that his receiver was going wild meant that the message was constantly being sent; you kept on pressing the pager. Steve's anger grew into outright fury at the thought of someone hurting you; it was reflected in his eyes as his blood boiled in his veins. 

Bucky cautiously called out his name, standing up in an instant when Steve shot out of his seat, his entire body tense. 

"Hold the fort" Steve barked out, taking huge strides as he marched out of the study, the questions and shouts from his friends falling on deaf ears. Right now, he had only one thing on his mind: you.

* * *

"HEY! OPEN THIS DOOR!"

You stumbled backwards, hands trembling and gasping for breath. The bathroom door began to jerk the more Sitwell pounded against it, his screams muffled yet loud enough for the neighbours to hear. You'd hoped help was on its way but you didn't want to stay any longer to find out. 

You made the mistake of spitting in Sitwell's face in defiance and he lost it. You barely dodged his fists, running to the bathroom in hopes he'd follow you. You hid behind the open door and waited for him to run in before you darted out and locked him in from the outside, leaving him trapped for the time being. 

Your eyes roamed back and forth as your skin crawled, your heart pounding in fear. You sprung into action just as you heard the fierce crack of the door being forcefully pushed open, heading for the front door. You screamed when a pair of strong arms pulled you back and threw you to the floor, knocking the wind out of you. Sitwell was one step ahead of you, kneeling in front of you and his hands roughly grasped around your forearms, pinning them to the floor. 

"Stay still!" he shouted at you, pushing you down as you fought against him, scratching and kicking him wherever you could, shouting at him to let go of you. Only a few moments had passed but it felt like a lifetime, the endless tug of war reaching a stalemate with your shouts and screams loud enough to alert the neighbours. You groaned through gritted teeth as you used the last of your energy to resist his weight, your arms growing more and more tired.

The front door abruptly swung open, harshly crashing onto the opposite side of the wall from the momentum of a hard kick on the outside. You groan in relief when Sitwell is suddenly pulled off of you, sluggishly sitting up and crawling backwards until your back hit a hard surface, your eyes roaming until you found who you were looking for. He came. 

Steve drove like a madman, speeding past cars and cutting through shortcuts until he arrived at your home, barely stopping his Audi before he threw open the door, his fury increasing tenfold when he heard your shouts and screams as he ran to your door, kicking it open to see **him** on top of you. Growling, he yanked Sitwell by the collar and pinned him to the nearest wall, his shirt gripped in Steve's fists. 

"Rogers" Sitwell greeted him with a smirk. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Steve snarled at him, glaring at him when he slyly chuckles. 

"Word on the street is that Steve Rogers has himself a new girl. Thought I might as well take the bitch off yo--" 

Steve punched him in the stomach mid-sentence. Sitwell groaned in pain, doubling over, allowing Steve to strike Sitwell's chin with the heel of his palm, propelling his head backwards until it hit the wall behind him, knocking him out within seconds. Steve didn't spare him another glance, turning to find you sitting on the floor, back against the sofa, breathing heavily as your eyes found his. Steve instantly felt himself grow calm, letting out a breath of relief to find you unharmed. He breathed out your name, taking two strides to reach you, holding a hand out for you. 

You immediately took his hand, letting him effortlessly pull you off the floor and into his arms, sagging against his chest and winding your arms around his neck. His head met the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hand clutching the back of your head, soothing you as you clung to him, murmuring his name in between soft cries. 

* * *

"Ah!" You hissed when Steve gently pressed the cold towel on your swollen cheek, the ice cooling down the purple bruise.

"Sorry, sorry" Steve muttered softly, tilting your chin up as he inspected the bruise Sitwell had left you. 

Soon after the debacle with Sitwell, Steve drove you to his office at the bar, talking to someone named Sam on the phone, telling him about the whole ordeal. You didn't want to think about where Sam would take Sitwell, or what he'd do to him. He drove in silence after he ended the call, occasionally glancing at you as you stared out the window, your face damp with tears and your hands tightly clutched together in your lap. Steve made sure the bar was completely empty before he arrived; he wanted privacy for you. 

He sat you on his large chair, kneeling in front of you, one hand keeping the chair still and the other tending to your swollen cheek. You closed your eyes, tears springing in the corner of your eyes at Steve's tenderness, releasing a shuddering breath. 

"Are you alright?" Steve whispered to you. 

"I don't know" you whispered back, opening your eyes to see Steve staring back at you, concern swimming in the ocean blue. 

You both turned at the sound of a knock, your hand gripping Steve's when a man peaked his head in. 

"Is it safe to come in?" he asked Steve. 

Steve nodded. "All clear, Clint."

Clint nodded once and opened the door wider, revealing Wanda standing in the doorway. Once her eyes locked onto yours, she ran into the room and immediately engulfed you in a warm hug, her delicate hands rubbing your back. You sighed, welcoming the familiar warmth, hugging her as fiercely back. 

"Are you hurt? What happened? Who did this?" Wanda asked a flurry of questions as her eyes roamed over you in concern. 

You chuckled at Wanda's maternal nature. "I'm ok, Wanda. I promise" you smiled, wiping your tears as Wanda softly ran a hand over your head. She turned to Steve and thanked him, greeting him with a friendly hug. You wondered how long they'd known each other. 

"So what happens now?" Wanda asked as she pulled away, coming back to your side and wrapping her arm around you, her hand soothingly rubbing your forearm. 

Steve sighed, hands moving to rest on his hips. His sleeves were still rolled up to his elbows, the first two buttons on his shirt undone from earlier. "We've taken care of Sitwell and your home is intact, but it's not safe to stay there tonight."

"Oh god" you whispered, covering your eyes with your hand. Wanda clutched your hand in comfort; this was exactly you didn't want to happen. 

* * *

Luckily, the arrangement was only for one night. Wanda was to stay with Clint in the meantime; you learned that Clint was a surrogate father of sorts, taking her in when her brother had died by the hands of Hydra. Meanwhile, it was decided that it would be safer for you to stay with Steve. You refused to be separated from Wanda, but she convinced you, promising you she would meet you at Steve's house in the morning. You reluctantly parted ways, letting Steve lead you to his car. 

The drive was once again spent in silence; Steve concentrated on the road, mulling over the day. He was careless, so stupid to think no-one would find out who you were. He never wanted to drag you into his toxic life, he wanted to keep you safe. Yet he never thought that the mere action of being seen with him once would have consequences. He was so careful last night. He made sure that he picked a restaurant that was safe from prying eyes, he made sure you were home safe early. It all backfired because he got too greedy. 

He pulled into his driveway, heaving a sigh and running a hand over his face after stopping the car. Glancing your way, he did a double-take. You were asleep, curled up in your seat facing him as you slept soundlessly, the worry and stress catching up to you. A hint of a smile graced Steve's face as he stared at you. If this was any other situation, he'd stay there all night, stroking your hair and adjusting your chair so you'd be more comfortable. But it wasn't one of those situations. 

Steve exited the car and rounded to the passenger side, opening the door as quietly as he could and placed one hand under your knees and the other on your back, carefully lifting you out the car bridal style before shutting the door closed with his hips. He locked the car and walked to his home, unlocking the door with his keys and walking straight upstairs all while carrying you in his arms. 

He was careful not to jostle you awake, your head placed on his shoulder as he gracefully entered the guest bedroom. Everything was neatly in place; it was the first instance he'd ever had to use the room. Lifting the duvet, Steve deposited you on the bed, taking off your shoes and tucking you in, the duvet and blanket covering you up to the chin. You hadn't so much as stirred until your head hit the pillow, groaning lightly as you turned on your side, arm tucked under the pillow. 

Steve felt his phone buzz in his pocket and quickly took it out, seeing Sam's name flicker on the screen, answering the call so you weren't disturbed. 

"Steve, Sitwell's Hydra. He's been working as a cop as a front. He's been dealt with now, he won't bother you guys again"

"Does anyone else know about Y/N?"

"No, he was the only one." 

"Thanks, Sam" Steve told him, ending the call after. 

He sat on the bed, besides your legs and turning his head to face you. You looked peaceful, your features soft and your body slowly rising up and down with each breath you took. Steve's hand moved to your head, his fingers running through your hair, lovingly stroking the tresses and brushing them away from your face, tucking them behind your ear. 

Steve Rogers rarely felt regret, yet in a very long time, regret coursed through his veins as he stared at you. This all happened because he was selfish enough to give in to his desires. If he hadn't, you would've gone about your day without the worry of someone coming for you. 

What had he done? 


End file.
